


Memory Thrown Up, High and Dry

by newyorktopaloalto



Series: soon as you're in, you're out [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: F/M, Incest, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-Beatrice/Lemony meeet-up, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 16:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17369864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/pseuds/newyorktopaloalto
Summary: Every year on Beatrice's birthday Violet and Klaus would partake in an argument about their future. The fight this year, while ostensibly no different than the ones previous, felt a world and a half away from all the others—Violet's and Klaus' lives were now entangled in a way that they had not been previously, and neither of them were willing to give this nascent thing up.





	Memory Thrown Up, High and Dry

**Author's Note:**

> When I watched the series all I could think of was that one meme with the butterfly and the anime guy except it said: 'obvious romantic allusions and parallels between Violet and Klaus' and 'Is this how you write a sibling relationship?' 
> 
> Also, there is a shameful dearth of this pairing, so if I'm just throwing this into the void—what's it like living in space and on a scale of the Horta to Andorians, how hot are the majority of the aliens? 
> 
> Don't own, so please don't sue. 
> 
> Title is a play on a line from the T.S. Eliot poem [Rhapsody on a Windy Night](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44215/rhapsody-on-a-windy-night) (the link will take you to poetryfoundation, which has no paywall and is a trusted site used by educators). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It started, as it always did, with Beatrice's birthday and an argument they had only once a year. Even then, it was usually was deemed in hindsight less of an argument in the traditional sense than a series of one of them pointing out a course of action, the other refuting it, and then reversing their positions until they finally came to an agreement, looking at one another wearily over Beatrice's shoulders as Sunny kept the child occupied, to keep the entire event postponed for another year. 

Sunny, who Violet knew had listened to their conversations before but—despite her prowess as a remarkably talented toddler—had never quite grasped a complete understanding of, glanced between them as the two older siblings engaged in their own particularly developed brand of 'fighting-not-fighting' that seemed to overtake all parental figures at some point or another in having to execute important conversations in the presence of young ears who could not understand what they were speaking about. Instead of answering the child's obvious questions, however, Violet instead shook her head and gestured for Sunny to take Beatrice, who seemed vastly engaged in the act of playing with her frosting instead of actually eating it. For a moment Sunny looked as though she were going to refuse the unvoiced command, but she acquiesced as soon as Klaus shook his own head in a gesture that could only be interpreted as asking for the subject to be dropped with a minimum of fuss. 

“Goodnight, Beatrice,” Violet said as Sunny gathered up the child in her arms, and she brushed a kiss on both the toddler's and the child's foreheads, giving Sunny a grateful nod as Klaus moved in to do the same as Violet. “Goodnight, Sunny.” 

“Night,” Sunny replied, and Violet could tell that her younger sister was not satisfied with only understanding half of their conversation—despite knowing that children, Sunny especially, were able to sublimate and retain pertinent information, Violet was still not inclined to let the girl do anything more than wonder and develop a plan for sneaking around that Violet could not offset via her own established inventive processes. 

“Sleep well,” Klaus called softly to their backs, and though she was not looking at him Violet felt his stare as she picked up the plate Beatrice had been eating from, Sunny's next, and was only stopped in her tracks as her motions towards hers and Klaus' was interrupted by his hand resting on her arm. 

“Violet.” 

She looked up at him, frowning a bit at the implacability his gaze seemed to portray; her lips thinned as she met his eyes with her own, unwavering in her own steadfast expression. 

“I understand, Klaus, I just don't agree.” 

His lips twisted in what Violet presumed to be a wry smile. “Do you really not agree, or are you just playing the Devil's Advocate to take stock of my opinions?” 

“We can survive without it—we can do this with the both of us, Sunny and Beatrice taken care of and no worries of ostensible fires and the acquisition of vast fortunes.” 

Klaus took the plates from Violet, depositing them into the small sink on the other side of the room of their current domicile—none of the Baudelaire's old 'wanted!' posters had been traced to the current tenants of the small flat, but the two currently arguing orphans cum parents had kept a wary eye on their co-inhabitants all the same. Violet, then, her fingers perpetually sore and Klaus, his eyes much the same, both drifted to the secondhand couch, the dark stains of its former exploits forever a petty mystery to the teens that fell, exhausted, upon it. 

“We can both continue working and we'll have no need for anything more.” 

The back of a hand bumped her thigh and, despite her own nervous fretting and their current argument, Violet felt no hesitation in reaching over to lace their fingers together, the line of 'it's not okay since we're fighting' never having occurred to either of them. Klaus sighed and Violet watched in her peripheral as he hunched over to bury his forehead in the crook of her neck; the edge of his glasses dug into her collarbone but Violet ignored it in favor of pressing her lips to whichever part of Klaus' hair she could reach. They both were aware of the fact that this simple, almost blissful existence could only hold on for so long—Violet felt the end of the rope that was the noose of her eighteenth birthday draw closer, and with that came the responsibility of providing their small family with whatever means she could conceivably use. That meant, of course, her and Klaus finding a way to acquire her inheritance while all the while keeping Sunny and Beatrice safe from the still pending criminal charges the original Baudelaires had attained in their more childish of pasts. 

“Maybe,” Klaus finally said, his agreement seemingly more perfunctory than his actual feelings about the matter, and Violet could sense, more than actually hear, his own indecision in the entire matter. “But waiting until you're eighteen comes with its own problems.” 

“Just because I haven't read it in some obscure book no one else cares about, doesn't mean I don't know it.” 

She regretted her words as soon as they left her and though she was aware that she deserved Klaus pulling away to un-smudge his glasses—face turned away from her as she saw his cheeks redden as he bit down whatever he obviously wanted to say in response—Violet still felt bereft as Klaus worked his hand out of her grasp. Still next to her, still pressed against her from knee to hip, Violet wasn't alone by any means, but she knew that the younger teen was still several degrees away from her that he wasn't just scant moments before. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean that.” 

“I know, I understand, it's okay.” He paused. “There was dust on the cover, so no one else _did_ care about it anyway.” 

“Klaus, that's not—” 

Violet stopped in the middle of her sentence as she heard a huff of laughter, and if his joke was a touch more self-effacing than his modus operandi neither of them said a word—she didn't know if it was a just action, letting her off the metaphorical hook like that, but she took Klaus' gift for what it was intended to be. And, almost as though he knew what hid older sister was thinking, he took her hand again and brought them, their knuckles white as they gripped one another tightly at this point of contact, to his knee. They breathed out, almost in unison, and it was only then that Violet felt the last of the stresses of the day leave her—it was a rush, heady and exhilarating, and her eyes closed against her will as she slumped against Klaus who, in turn, let his own weight lean against her. 

“We'll be okay. Even if and when we have to be the Baudelaire orphans again—we'll be okay.” 

“Yeah,” Violet agreed knowing that since the last year, since she had gone from sixteen to seventeen, her stance on what would happen in the future seemed less like 'sometime in the distant future' and more like 'the looming shadow of the inevitable future.' The distinction between the two, while understandable as time passed ever forth, was still a hallowing force to contend with. “We'll be fine as long as we're together.” 

They sat for a few minutes, breathing in the silence, the tenuous peace, one another, and only until their heartbeats slowed to an acceptable rate. Then, picking themselves—their relationship, their motives for continuing this life in the first place—up piece by piece, they stood after one last lingering embrace. 

“I'll check on Sunny and Beatrice,” Klaus said, and Violet released his hand so he could do exactly that. 

It ended, then, with a look that conveyed more than it had at the end of every other conversation on every other year, and an understanding that this change—all of these changes—would create just another hurdle for their little family to rage against, screaming into the abyss of a storm that would not pass. 

“I'll be here,” Violet replied, nodding to her brother as he adjusted his glasses once more. “I'll wait for you.” 

He smiled, a half quirk on a benign mouth that could probably do with a retainer but was more than adequate nevertheless, before turning away. Violet's smile, a little softer but no less consuming, hit his back as she watched him walk through the doorway to Sunny and Beatrice's room, the elder acting as a barrier against the drop to the floor in lieu of a crib they couldn't afford. There was no way she could, if given the choice, deny them more—couldn't deny them what, after they all had been through, they _should_ have if given half the chance to, that step up in the world that new identities could never bestow upon them. 

A sly, insidious thought about last names, waiting a few years, and the implications of appearing with two children in tow niggled at the back of her mind and was shoved ruthlessly down with a ferocity of the humiliated or depressingly embarrassed; it was better to wait another year, until everything was more solidified and everyone was clear on the delineation of what was and what and what could be. Klaus, gentle humming indicating his coming back from checking in on the children, interrupted her swirling thoughts about him and Violet realized that she hadn't moved the entire time he had been in the other room. His gaze was concerned, but she shook her head in response with the same soft smile that he hadn't been witness to before. For this one thing, she would let the cards fall where they may—they could plan, could obsess over everything else, but this? Was uncharted and daunting and absolutely, wholly _new_. 

“They're asleep.” 

Violet nodded, still mostly distracted, and it took Klaus' fingertips, light against her collarbone as he tried to grab her attention, for her to startle into full awareness once more. 

“Thank you.” 

“Let's go to bed.” His hand moved to her own and he tugged her lightly to the mattress stuffed in the corner of the room. Gamely, she followed him and they sat on the edge to take off their shoes—the actions were rote by now, but as she focused her thoughts on the feel of unlacing her boots and the sound of Klaus unlacing his own it took on a gravitas, a poignancy, that she had never let herself feel before. 

“Thank you,” she said again, and Klaus only nodded in reply, maneuvering the both of them to lie down on their sides before throwing the heavy blanket over their bodies, the loosened clothing they wore in lieu of pajamas no longer a discomfort—they were both still, after all this time, prepared and willing to run at almost a moment's notice. 

It wasn't until later, until Violet was felt the passage of another minute go by without sleep taking her, until Klaus' breaths evened out and his grip around her went lax and all indicators pointed to him sleeping, that she finally let out the last of the tension that had taken residence in the back of her neck melt away. 

“Thank you,” Klaus whispered and she buried a smile in the pillow at his endearingly adept subterfuge. 

His lips brushed the top of her head and, after what seemed like a moment of indecision, stayed there. 

“Sleep well.” It was muffled, sleepy, and loving—Violet felt her eyes tear up against her will. She ignored the few drops that were soaked up by the cotton of the pillowcase, knowing that the tears were, more than anything else, another release from the tension she had been holding since their conversation the year before. 

“Sleep well,” Violet replied, and she knew that Klaus had heard the difference in her voice but didn't say a word about it; his lips, however, pressed a little harder against Violet's hair. 

“I love you, Violet.” 

Violet's pressed her lips tight as a few more tears slipped out and after a bated moment she wrapped her hand around where his arm was holding her firmly against him. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> xoxo


End file.
